Death warmed over
by ohcomely23
Summary: "As Neal stole a glimpse at Peter, a quizzical look in the agent's warm brown eyes, a sharpness interrupted his thoughts. Neal's blood ran cold, and before he could register what was happening, he saw those warm brown eyes burn with horror and passion. Peter? Neal opened his mouth to ask his friend what was wrong, but the sound was muffled in his throat." Neal whumpage story.
1. Chapter 1: Not like this

This is my first fanfiction; any feedback is greatly appreciated. If you're out there reading this, please let me know! I'll gladly continue with the story.

Neal Caffrey was many things. Conman—of course, thief—occasionally, mastermind- why thank you, yes… but disloyal? Never. And so, on that murky Thursday evening, as he and Agent Peter Burke were exiting the FBI headquarters and the strung out man with the knife asked which of them was Peter Burke, Neal stepped in front of his mentor and said "I am Peter Burke". As Neal stole a glimpse at Peter, a quizzical look in the agent's warm brown eyes, a sharpness interrupted his thoughts. Neal's blood ran cold, and before he could register what was happening, he saw those warm brown eyes burn with horror and passion.

_Peter?_

Neal opened his mouth to ask his friend what was wrong, but the sound was muffled in his throat. Neal's eyes fluttered to his chest, his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as his vision darkened. Neal weakly fought the urge to give in, to pass out. A brilliant crimson, richer than any red he'd seen, was blossoming across his shirt. Neal involuntarily gasped, the action alone causing excruciating pain. In sooth, it could only have been three, maybe four, seconds.

"Peter," Neal forced the air out of his lungs, involuntarily gurgling on hot and sticky blood as he felt his knees buckle. Neal raised a shaky hand to his chest, and immediately, his hand was hot and sticky. Neal tried to inhale, to steady himself, reaching out for something, anything, to keep himself anchored. Once more his vision darkened. His chest was on fire, waves of pain licking his nerves and dancing through his veins. Neal felt himself falling and braced himself for the hard cement, and everything went black.

_

Peter and Neal had just finished writing up the report on James Lucas, a white collar criminal who had been the mastermind behind a series of insurance frauds in the Manhattan area… though to be honest, Neal really hadn't been much help. He'd been flipping that damned fedora from his hand to his head and then back again.. it was all Peter could do not to smack the kid. But nevertheless, Neal waited for him. As they finally finished, Neal grumbled something about missing dinner and how he was going to have to eat leftover's from June's fridge. "Oh, poor Neal has to eat leftover prime rib? Count your blessings, Caffrey. You could be eating prison sludge right now."  
Neal sighed in frustration. Peter knew that the prison card was a surefire way to get on his CI's nerves—which was exactly why he had played it.

As they turned the corner out of the building, his train of thought was interrupted. A man, probably late twenties and scruffy in appearance, looked upon the duo. "Which one of you is Peter Burke?" Peter followed Neal's gaze down to the glimmering knife in the man's hand and, as he assessed the situation and took a breath to respond, he heard the four most shocking words. "I am Peter Burke."

Without warning, the offender stepped into Neal's path, thrusting the knife into his CI's chest and twisting the handle. He then pushed Neal off of the blade, discarded it to the ground, and ran off. Not that it mattered what direction he ran, because Peter's eyes were glued to Neal. He watched the younger man take a sharp breath and utter his name, his voice laced with pain and confusion, a mixture that broke Peter's heart. Neal sounded tipsy, the 'r' in Peter's name slurring against his blood-tinged lips.  
Blood tinged…

_Caffrey… dammit Neal…_

Neal blanched as he ghosted his trembling fingers across the quickly spreading wound on his chest. Peter felt locked into place as he stared in horror, Neal's eyes still fixed on his, though those brilliant blue eyes seemed foggy, unfocused. As Neal weakly shuttered and collapsed into a heap, Peter lurked forward. He thrust his left hand upon the back of Neal's neck, firmly, and used his right to catch the man's fall. Peter eased the young man to the ground.

"Neal? Neal, can you hear me? Neal, stay with me."

The panic in his voice was only rivaled by the concern for the young man. Caffrey's eyes fluttered towards Peter and rolled behind his head. Peter's breath hitched in his throat, an ache in his chest as he looked at the young man. "No, Caffrey, you're not leaving me.. not like this. Not this way.." _Oh god.._

_  
Please let me know what you think so far! 


	2. Chapter 2: The good samaritan

Peter forced himself to detach from the situation, or at least as much as he could. He needed to switch into agent mode if he wanted to save his friend's life. Neal's breathing was shallow, coming in painful gasps, but the kid was breathing.

Peter felt for a pulse with his right hand, his left hand still cradling Neal's neck. Peter delicately pulled the young man onto his lap so that his head was resting on his knees. Thinking Neal was unconscious, he began to apply some pressure to Neal's stab wound. Neal let out a tormented gurgle, his face taut and his jaw locked in a grimace. The man paled further, something Peter didn't realize was even possible given Neal's present state. The ex-con looked like death warmed over.

_P-Peter, please. Stop. P-Please… Please stop… _The young man's eyes fluttered open as he gasped in utter distress. He felt Peter's hands pressing into the fire. His breath was ragged and chocked, and his words seemed to dance in his mind, hazy, yet die before making it to his parted lips. He silently begged for Peter to release the pressure, for the agony of the stab wound in conjunction with the pressure was unbearable. Neal tried to make eye contact with Peter, blinking a few times to keep things clear. Peter was swimming before his very eyes, a blur that was impossible to keep track of. Feeling another pang of pressure, a single gasp escaped his lips. "No.."

Peter's heart was pounding in his ears; adrenaline and fear kept him going. His blood ran cold as he felt the tremors in Neal's body. He kept applying pressure. He had to stop the bleeding, but dammit, there was so much blood. Neal's life was pouring out and Peter felt powerless to stop it. With all his focus on his partner's wound and now on his blood-caked hands, Peter didn't realize that Neal had regained consciousness. Feeling Neal take a painful and jagged breath, Agent Burke's eyes shot towards Neal's. Those dazzling Caffrey eyes were merely dull orbs, seeming to match the grey parlor of the man's skin. Neal's eyes widened as he uttered a single word that, had Peter not been holding his breath, he would have missed entirely. "No," the young man begged. That single word tugged at Peter's heart. He saw Neal's eyes begin to droop. "Neal, stay with me, Neal!" The young CI was fading fast. Peter knew he needed to call an ambulance, and yet the prospect of letting up the pressure on the wound terrified him. As if by a miracle, a 40-something man, a lawyer by the looks of his tailored suit and briefcase, materialized. "Oh my God.." he murmured.

"I need you to call an ambulance." Peter rattled off the directions to the man who nodded in compliance and made the phone call. "Ambulance should be here in a few minutes," he said. Peter thanked the man quietly, his eyes never leaving Neal's hollow gaze.

The good man dropped to his knees. "Tell me what I can do to help."  
Peter jerked his head up to meet the man's eyes for the first time. "Thank you, Mr…"  
The man smiled and held out his hands. "Lucas. James Lucas."  
_James Lucas.  
White Collar criminal.  
Fuck…. _Peter barely had time to register the prick of a needle into his arm before the word went dark.


	3. Chapter 3: He's nothing but a suit

NOTE: Thank you for the reviews, especially TonyDiNozzo42 and velveteen habit. Hopefully this is easier to read! :)

Peter's eyes danced beneath his eyelids. As he pried them open, he felt crust along his lash line, indicating that he'd been out for a few hours. It took him a moment to focus his gaze as he looked around the room, immediately wishing he hadn't.

Peter was slumped against an exposed brick wall in what looked to be an old office. He eased himself to his feet with a grunt and made his way to the door. Agent Burke had a bit of a migraine and pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate some of the pressure. Gingerly wrapping his still blood-caked hands…. _Neal's blood…._ around the handle of the door, he let in a sharp breath. Peter was startled to find that the door was unlocked. As he stepped through the frame of the door, his breath hitched in his throat.

They were in the annex of the old FBI headquarters, and Peter had just stepped from an old office into an interrogation room.

There was a fold-out metal chair in front of him, a large and awkward television/vhs player in front of the chair.

Looking around, Peter saw his own reflection in the mirror that ran along the wall. He had bags under his bloodshot eyes, and there was a morsel of blood on his shirt and hands, but other than that, he looked well. Peter assessed the room when it hit him… _  
This is the room where I interrogated Neal, after I arrested him..._  
_When I'd asked the infuriating conman which paintings he'd forged.  
_Peter felt the memory threaten overtake him when he noticed a tape peeking out from the vhs player.  
_PETER BURKE- PLAY ME _was scrawled in sharpie on the exposed end of the tape. Without consciously making the decision to even move, Peter found himself in front of the television and pushing the tape into the VCR. Before his very eyes, he saw the interrogation playing out on the fuzzy television screen.

_"Dammit Caffrey! You're looking at at least four years for this- in a state penitentiary. You really think a pretty boy like you can survive in there? Tell me which paintings you switched out with your forgeries."_

This was a tested-and-true technique to get the felons to crack.  
Instead, Neal Caffrey just smiled.

"Allegedly," he smirked, eyeing the FBI agent with a playful glimmer in his eyes.  
Peter puffed out the breath he'd been holding, frustrated, absently running his hands through his hair. They'd been doing this little dance for two hours now. Peter's blood was boiling.

Peter had seen enough and, puzzled, ejected the tape. Why was this in here? And why was he even here? Try as he might, it just didn't make sense. Peter felt like he was on the edge of remembering—he was just missing a vital piece, but if he could only remember… Maybe Neal would know. Neal- _Neal. _Peter realized once again that he'd {referring to Peter} been drugged and out of it for at least a few hours… and even two minutes after being stabbed, Neal had been struggling. _Dear God… No, there's no way Caffrey's dead. _Neal Caffrey was invincible! Peter had never thought of his partner as being human, at least not in the tangible sense. The kid was brilliant, always a step ahead of everyone else. A world without Neal Caffrey was just a world that couldn't exist.

Peter's eyes flickered around the room anxiously, pausing at the mirror. He recognized it as a two-way mirror. He closed the distance between himself and the mirror, furiously pounding on it. He was sure someone was on the other side.

"Hey! HEY!"

His voice sounded strange to his own ears, crackled and hoarse. But he kept yelling.

"Lucas! You son of a bitch, LUCAS!"

A door he hadn't even noticed opened, and Peter braced himself to lunge at Lucas. Instead, he found himself face to face with….

Neal.

Neal took a few steps towards Peter. He was wearing a fresh, clean shirt. There was no blood anywhere on the kid, and his eyes looked hard. He looked a little pale, but other than that, just fine. No stab wound in sight…?

"Hello, Peter."

Peter couldn't form a sentence, words tumbling from his mouth instead. "N-Neal? You… you were… and then… Neal?" He rushed towards the CI, needing to see for himself that his friend was alright.

Neal held up an arm to welcome Peter, it seemed. Maybe even hug him? Hell, Peter didn't care. He was just thrilled to see him friend alive and moving. He was just-

Falling.

Peter glanced up at Neal, his face tumbling further away. He looked down, noticing a small trickle of blood leaving his left arm, a syringe in Neal's hand.

_What?_

Neal's eyes burned a whole through Peter as he flirted with unconsciousness. He was immobilized, lying on the floor. Neal unaffectedly stepped over him. The young con must have assumed he was unconcious. Try as he might, Peter couldn't open his eyes, but he could make out some words. It sounded like Neal was talking to someone on the phone, but he couldn't make out who it was.

"He's out, just like you wanted. He never suspected a thing… Do what you need to do. I don't care. He's…. he's nothing but a suit." Neal's voice was hard.

_Neal.. Neal, why?  
Nothing but a suit, nothing but a suit, nothing…. nothing but…. nothing but….suit…..nothing….. _  
Peter could no longer think coherently.  
The world faded to black.

Neal took a shaky breath, watching his partner, his friend, on the other side of the mirror. _The most important part of pulling a con is to believe it yourself.. _And Neal knew that if he wanted his friend to survive this ordeal, he was going to have to sell Peter on the idea that Neal was working against him and that Peter needed to escape.

His chest was bandaged, but the pain was raw as ever. Trembling, he struggled to stand and support his weight. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood, and again, took a shaky breath. He knew he was going to have to look strong, uninjured.

He opened the door, his heart stopping when he saw Peter. Peter looked so relieved, so happy to see him.

Neal controlled his voice. "Hello, Peter."  
He braced himself for what he knew was coming, what he had to do.

Peter looked at him, a little confused, but that goofy smile broke out on his face as Agent Burke rushed towards him. Neal could feel a sheen layer of sweat begin to coat him, the mere effort of remaining vertical consuming all of his strength. He fought it, trembling ever so slightly. He hoped Peter hadn't noticed.

And suddenly, Peter was in front of him.  
Before he could stop himself, Neal pricked the syringe into Peter's arm.  
The hurt, confusion, and utter betrayal on his friend's face were more excruciating to him than any stab wound. Neal set his jaw and watched as his friend crumbled to the ground. He knew his friend was still conscious as he stepped over him, cringing, and pulled the cell phone he'd been given from his pocket.

"Now repeat after me," cooed the voice on the other end.

"He's out, just like you wanted."

Neal clenched his jaw before repeating: "He's out, just like you wanted." And then again. "He never suspected a thing… Do what you need to do. I don't care." Neal saw the edges of his vision darkening. He needed to hold on, so he bit his lip, riding out the pain.

"Good, good," chuckled the man on the other line. "Now one last line. He's nothing but a suit."

Neal took an uncertain breath. He knew this was the nail in the coffin, that this line would break Peter's heart just as it was about to break his own. Neal's voice was hard.

"He's nothing but a suit."

_  
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	4. Chapter 4: Come on, Buddy

**Note: I've been updating like crazy! Just let me know what you think so far. I'm still figuring out where I want to go with this, but I do have something specific in mind. Anyhow, recommendations would be fantastic. Let me know if there's anything you'd like me to incorporate into the story.**_**  
**__

Peter felt cool hands on his neck and on the back of his head, as if someone was positioning him against the wall to make him more comfortable. Peter was still pretty out of it, but he could vaguely smell a familiar scent. _ Neal's cologne._

The words danced dizzily in the agent's mind. He could hear his partner's shuddering breaths, no two breaths identical. _Neal? Peter hadn't realized he'd moaned the name aloud until he heard a defeated sigh. Peter struggled to open his eyes… but he was completely and despairingly alone._

Neal's eyes burned through the two-way mirror as he watched his friend struggle to come to. He'd been repositioning his friend when James Lucas had materialized beside him, waving a gun in front of him. Neal hated guns; they required no thought. Any goon could wave a gun or use brute force—there was no challenge in that. Now, Neal was slumped into a metal fold-out chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. Of course, he could undo the locks at any moment, but he was biding his time, waiting for Lucas to turn his back.

Neal's stab wound was vaguely throbbing, but Neal had become accustomed to the pain. After being captured, Lucas had been, in his words, "kind enough to help" because he could never refuse a "dog in need". He'd crudely stitched up Neal's wound before sadistically bandaging the ex-con, grinning as he had applied unnecessary pressure to the wound. Of course, that hadn't stopped Lucas from slapping him around a few times.

Neal was dimly aware of something warm trickling above his eyebrow, and he felt a little worse for the wear, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind.

Neal wasn't sure how Lucas had tracked them down, hell, how he had even managed to escape custody, but the rest of the evening was pretty easy to piece together.

Lucas had hired some junkie to kill Peter Burke, and it hadn't gone as planned. Being the sick bastard that Lucas was, Neal deduced that he'd planned on admiring his handy work. What Lucas hadn't counted on was Neal staying late to help Peter, let alone on Neal saving Peter's life… and for that unexpected ruin of his plans, Lucas intended to make Neal suffer, but not before fooling Peter into believing his pet con had betrayed him.

"Maybe I'll even let you kill Peter… as much as it would wound me not to be able to relish in the _honorable_ Agent Burke's warm blood myself. Decisions, decisions," he crooned. The enjoyment on his face was sickening to Neal.

Neal was mentally going through his escape route. _Hopefully, Peter buys it. _Neal knew Peter would never leave an agent—or a CI—behind… but if he thought that Neal was working with Lucas, he might. And that's what Neal needed. He needed his friend out of this place and safe with his loving wife El.  
He grimaced at the very idea of Elizabeth being widowed. Peter Burke had a life, a career, a family, and what did Neal have? Neal knew his odds weren't good no matter what, but if he could just get Peter out of there, he wouldn't mind dying. Hell, he'd be able to see Kate again.  
Neal's heart constricted, as it always did, at the mere memory of his beloved.

His thoughts were interrupted by a staggering pain in his chest.

Neal's eyes fluttered down as he recoiled, trying to fold into himself. Lucas was prodding a finger straight into the knife wound, and fresh blood was seeping across the bandage. Neal tried to hold his cry, not wanting to give the madman the reaction he craved. Unsatisfied with Neal's stoic behavior, Lucas prodded harder. He felt the young man tense and try to recoil, but with the metal backing of the chair, there was nowhere Neal could go. Lucas abruptly removed his finger, and for a moment, Neal could breathe. For a moment-

and then James Lucas clutched his fist and slammed into the wound with all of his strength, chuckling. Neal's back arched. He lacked the air to scream, and trembling, he felt himself succumbing to the darkness.

_I need to be stronger than this. I am not weak. I am not weak._

Neal's head rolled backwards, hanging off the back of the chair, his back still painfully arched. His breathing was shallow and irregular, and he felt himself drifting. He tried to jostle himself. He heard a door close- Lucas was leaving- _Peter!_—but he lacked the strength to move. He heard a muffled cry and the door once more. He was beginning to form an idea on how to remove the handcuffs when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He braced himself for the certain pain, slowly opening his eyes.

_A pair of concerned, warm brown eyes bore into his own._

"P-Peter?" he slurred. His eyelids felt heavy, and he could feel himself drooping forward.

"Neal, Neal…. Come on buddy! Neal!" Peter's voiced was hushed but urgent. There was a panicked edge to his voice that Neal wasn't accustomed to.

Peter was taken aback at how pale Neal was. The kid was probably going into shock. "Caffrey, dammit," he muttered as he felt for Neal's pulse. The steady thump was reassuring, but it was slower than he would have liked.

Neal felt a warm hand under his chin, guiding his head up. He could feel Peter's breath on his face. "Neal."

"S-Someone…. needs a mm….mint…." Neal slurred. Peter had never been so happy to be insulted, and a giddy and relieved laugh escaped his lips.

"Well then let's go get one. But first, gotta remove these cuffs."

Neal lazily smiled, holding his bare wrists up. "You mean these ones?"

How on Earth Neal had managed to remove handcuffs while semi-unconscious was beyond Peter, but nevertheless, he thanked his lucky stars.

"Okay, buddy. Time to stand up."

Neal weakly chuckled. "Okay, buddy." Neal had never heard Peter call anyone buddy before, and it made him laugh. Of course, his laugh came out more like a grimace. Had Neal's eyes been opened, he would have caught Peter's concerned look.

"How'd you know… I hadn't…. teamed up with… Lucas….?" It was painful to speak, but he needed to get the words out.

Peter eased himself down to his knees and tenderly draped Neal's right arm around his shoulders, wrapping his own left arm around Neal's waist. He then rose to a standing position, Neal at his side.  
"I trust you, Neal. You're more than just my CI. You're my partner. You're my friend. Now come on. Cowboy up. You ready to get out of here?" Peter asked him.

Neal's blue eyes fluttered open, and he smiled. The two men gingerly made their way to the door.  
Neal looked up at Peter. You are the only person I trust, he thought.  
Neal couldn't believe it. Peter was here, and Peter had found him, just like he always did.

He opened his mouth to thank his friend when he felt a sharp pain in his chest.

Peter's eyes were cruel and cold. "Not bad for just a suit, huh?"

Neal looked a knife sticking out of his chest, right near his heart.  
"At least I didn't stab it in your back like you did to me," Peter muttered cruelly.

Neal gasped, and he closed his eyes, willing all of this to go away.

Neal's eyes opened. He was back in the room, back to reality… still in the chair. "Peter?" he murmured.  
He looked at the arm on his left shoulder and then up at the person who was directly in front of him.  
_Lucas._

"Nope." Lucas retorted. "Just you and me, kid. Time for the real fun to begin."


	5. Chapter 5: Took you long enough

_Just a suit._

Peter's eyes darted around the room, one person on his mind.

_Neal._

Peter knew Neal well, or at least he thought he did. The man had a tendency to hide behind those eyes of his; there was always a wall. But Peter had spent years tracking the conman, getting in his head prior to arresting him. And they'd been partners for three years.

After all they'd been through, they'd become pretty much family. And there was no way that Neal would turn on him- that he was certain of. He still had an uneasy feeling as he tried to rationalize why Neal would inject him. The memory clashed with that of Neal stepping in the path of a knife for him, of him adjusting his unconscious form to provide unspoken comfort. They just didn't go together.

_Neal, what are you doing…_

Peter wasn't sure what Neal's angle was, but he knew that something was horribly amiss. He could swear he heard muffled screams behind that mirror.

Peter thought back to his time working in this building, recalling an air shaft in the supply closet of the office he'd woken up in. He darted to the room, still a bit unsteady on his feet, and thrust open the supply closet.

_Yes_.

He thrust himself upwards into the vent, banging his knee clumsily. He let out a quiet whimper but continued. Peter could hear a door open—he wasn't alone, he could tell. His adrenaline was racing though, and he dragged himself forward. He could hear footsteps beneath him.

"Oh Agent Burke!" crooned Lucas in a sing-songy voice. Peter felt sick. He kept crawling.

"I suggest you join me, lest I make your day horribly unfortunate." Lucas chuckled. Hearing no response, he continued talking.

"Very well, very well. Suppose I'll have to scrape you out of there…" he let on as if he knew something Peter didn't, but Peter wasn't listening.

Instead, Agent Burke kept crawling. He noticed an opening, an end to the of the air duct. He could make out light at the end as he dragged his sore body towards it. He pressed his hands against the cage-like end to make his way out when he heard footsteps approaching. With anxious eyes, he looked through the opening.

_Neal_.

The kid was handcuffed to a chair and paler than any living person he'd ever seen… and he didn't look well…

Were it not for the wheezing coming from the young man and the pained grimace on his face, Peter would have sworn he was dead. Peter's heart thudded in his chest.

He cringed as the door opened and as Lucas sauntered in.

Lucas smiled that wicked smile of his as he walked over towards the wall, adjusting the thermostat.

"Oh Agent Burke! It's about to get a bit toasty in there.."

Hearing his friend's name and drifting from his woozy state, Neal's head dipped forward a bit.  
"Peter?" Neal murmured, dazed.

Peter felt his heart stop. He wanted nothing more than to go to his friend.

"Nope." Lucas retorted. "Just you and me, kid. Time for the real fun to begin."

Peter could barely stop himself from crying out as he watched Neal's tormented eyes flutter open, their cloudiness discerning him.

Lucas looked down at his knuckles and smiled. He used his whole body to throw a punch to Neal's face. Neal let out a surprised whimper, the chair rocking a bit. Lucas threw another punch, and then another, and then another. Neal's left cheekbone was already swelling a bit.

"Hey now…. Don't…. mess…. with…. m-moneymaker…." Neal taunted, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

_Neal, what are you doing!? Don't antagonize him! _Peter wanted to strangle his CI—wait, bad choice of words given the situation. He mentally scolded himself. But dammit, Neal.

"Oh, someone's feeling well enough to be a smartass, huh mutt?" He threw another forceful punch Neal's way.

Peter could feel anger radiating from his body. _You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch! _

There were so many things he needed to scream at Lucas, but he knew that Neal's best chance was for him to bide his time, to wait for Lucas to leave.

Lucas knew Peter was in the airduct, but he didn't realize how close. But dammit, he didn't know how much more Neal's body could take, and he needed to go to his friend. He physically ached at the sight before him.

_So fucking useless I am.. _

Peter's eyes were wide with horror as Lucas threw another punch, this one with so much force that the chair Neal was handcuffed to crashed to the floor. Neal didn't make a sound. His eyes were open, and he was holding back a pained smile.

From his position on the floor, on his back, he could see Peter looking down at him from the air duct. Neal ran his tongue over his cracked lip, tasting metallic blood, and looked directly into Peter's eyes. _Full trust._

"About time…" he whispered. Peter's heart warmed and broke at the same time. Leave it to Neal to crack a joke at a time like this.

"About time what?" Lucas asked maliciously. Failing to elicit a response from Neal, he kicked the young man in the ribs.

Knowing that Peter was here, that Peter was going to help him, Neal was more determined than ever to remain strong. Neal was not a victim. He just needed to hold on a little bit longer. He was clumsily fumbling with the handcuffs behind his back as he felt Lucas's foot crash into his ribs one more time.

Funny, it didn't hurt… that couldn't be a good thing, he figured, but he'd take any escape from the pain that he could. Besides, Peter was here! And soon enough, they'd be on their way out of here.

Lucas watched as Neal struggled to undo his cuffs. "Oh, the Great Neal Caffrey thinks he's going to just waltz right out of here?"

Lucas surprised Neal by undoing the cuff on Neal's left hand. He forcefully pulled Neal from the ground holding on to the empty cuff and-

Neal spit on him, a look of defiance. Call it adrenaline, call it madness, but Neal Caffrey was a fighter_. I am nobody's victim._

He knew that if he could keep Lucas's attention, Peter could get out of the airduct and help him.

The surprise of Neal's spit upon his face caused Lucas to drop Neal's hand. Without the support, Neal felt his legs begin to buckle, but he gritted through the pain and remained vertical. He threw an excruciating punch to Lucas, catching his captor off guard. Neal could see the edges of his vision blackening, and he wilted a bit.

_Neal!_ Peter mentally lamented. His partner was resilient, but Peter could see past the hard look in Neal's eyes. He was fading fast. Peter shook the edge of the airduct wall, trying to escape. He knew now what Lucas had meant about scraping him off- the metal was scalding hot, and Peter only just became aware of the blisters that had begun to form on his knees as he'd been so fixated on Neal. He threw his weight against the exit, a difficult feat given the heat and his odd positioning. Again, and again, and again.

Neal steadied himself, ready to strike Lucas again, but the element of surprise had worn off. He punched Neal in the gut, right on top of his torn stitches. Neal let in a wordless, ragged gasp. The pain had him seeing spots. _So much for feeling nothing.._ He felt it all.

Neal felt himself swaying as he crumpled to his knees, rocking a bit. Lucas just smirked. "Nice try, mutt." He spat, and he raised a hand to strike Neal...

…only to come crashing to the floor. He'd been so blinded by fury that he hadn't noticed Peter slip out of the air ducts.

Neal smiled a weak smile.

"Took you long enough."

Peter's heart constricted as he looked at Neal. "Yeah, well _somebody_ drugged me," he half-joked. Seeing the pain flash across Neal's eyes, he instantly regretted it.

Neal was still on his knees, awkwardly trying to stand up. Peter dropped to his knees and curled Neal's left arm around his neck. The action caused Neal's midsection to stretch, tormenting his ribs and previous wounds. He tried to stifle the groan in his throat, but his tense body radiated through Peter. "Sorry…." Peter muttered. "You okay?"

"Jus… peachy…." Neal retorted, his words breathy.

"Gonna stand up now… count of three…. One…. Two…."

_Three._ Neal said.. or thought he did. Must have just been in his mind, because he only heard Peter's voice say "three." Neal set his jaw and the two men gingerly rose off the ground. Neal was determined to support his weight, but about three steps towards the door, he staggered, feeling his knees buckle.

"It's okay, it's okay," Peter reassured his friend. To be honest, he wasn't sure how Neal was even conscious. Leave it to Neal to always surprise him.

Peter supported the brunt of Neal's weight, feeling the tremors in the young man's body. "Hey. You okay?"

"Jus... give me…. a sec…." he panted.

Peter's warm brown eyes bore into Neal's, but it was as if Neal was in an entirely different world, a world Peter couldn't see or be a part of. "Neal, need you look at me. Neal." He waited until blue eyes met his. "Hey."

Neal looked at him, all three of him.

"We need to get out of here before Lucas wakes up. Do you understand me?" Peter realized that Neal had likely hit his head when the chair had come crashing down.. let alone what other damage Lucas had done to his partner while Peter had been unconscious. He felt his anger boil again.

"Yeah," Neal slurred, giving a nod that he hoped was reassuring yet that sent waves of pain crashing through his skull. _Jeez, Caffrey. Get it together,_ he scolded himself. He hated feeling so weak. He wanted to ask Peter how he'd know that Neal hadn't turned on him, that it wasn't his choice, but those questions would have to wait, because Neal couldn't seem to catch his breath. _Fading.._

"Time to go, Neal." Peter walked/dragged his friend to the door and they made their way out. They were back in the interrogation room where Neal had drugged Peter, where Peter had interrogated Neal once upon a time. He tried to think of a way out, to recall the layout of the building. He heard Neal let out a slight wheeze and looked over to him.

The young con had a spark in his eyes. "I know how to get out of here."

"What do you mean?"

"This is the room… where y-you… interrogated me…. r'member?" he slurred, a hint of his Southern accent slipping out.

"And?" Peter didn't mean to sound impatient, but he needed Neal out of here and to a hospital.

"Always… devise… an exit stra….tedegy…." he smiled lazily. Peter exhaled. _Leave it to Neal._  
Suddenly, Neal's smile vanished and his eyes locked with Peter's.

"What's wrong."

"Think I'm gonna..." he dropped to his knees, Peter sinking with him to cushion the impact, and dry heaved. Neal began to cough, a wet cough, and little spatters of saliva and blood speckled the smooth cement ground. Neal struggled to catch his breath only to dry heave some more, the action excruciating to his ribs and stab wound, further aggravating his pain.

Peter held his breath, gently rubbing circles onto the young man's back. He then repositioned his arms so that they were locked in front of the man, crossed in front of his chest, to hold him up and alleviate the pain, but he could tell he wasn't doing a good job.

"Just breathe. Just breathe."

"E-Easy… for you to sssay…" he grimaced. "S-Sorry."

Peter just smiled at Neal, sympathetically. It killed him to see the seemingly invincible Neal Caffrey in such anguish.

"Think you can stand?"

"Mmhmm.."

Slowly, the two men rose to their feet.

"Now I'm ready to hear about this exit strategy," Peter spoke to his friend.

_Peter Burke, turning to me for help on escaping an FBI interrogation room._ A genuine smile lit up Neal's features as he took a shaky breath and prepared to explain the layout of the airduct system.

_  
_**Thank you guys for the reviews and such. Please keep them coming! I'm at work right now (receptionist on the weekends), and it's pretty slow, so I'm spending my time writing. I'll gladly add another chapter before the weekend ends. **_

_**I'd love it if you'd chime in with things you'd like to see added to the story, elements you'd enjoy.**_


	6. Chapter 6: Stronger than this

Neal had just briefed Peter on the layout of the airducts. Peter didn't say anything about the fact that it took Neal twice as long to explain everything, and he'd pretended not to notice the occasional pauses in instruction as Neal would ride out each wave of pain. Neal was pretending that it didn't hurt to breathe, and as long as Neal was keeping up the façade, Peter was going to pretend he believed it.

Peter's knees hurt from the blisters he'd gotten in the airduct earlier. He pushed the discomfort to the back of his mind. He was trying to figure out what would be best for Neal—for him to climb in first with a boost from Peter or for Peter to crawl in first and hoist Neal up. He knew that the latter would be more painful for his friend, but he feared that Neal would pass out in the duct, and Peter knew he wouldn't be able to push him through the duct.

As his eyes met his pained CI's, he realized that Neal had reached the same conclusion but didn't want to voice it. Wordlessly, Peter and Neal made their way to the duct. Peter climbed in with a small _oof_ and turned so that he was looking at Neal. He extended his hand.

With one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs, Neal reached towards Peter with his free hand. His face lost color immediately as his eyes flashed a look of pain that stilled Peter's breath. Not a sound left Neal's lips though.

Peter's fingers closed around Neal's cool and slender ones. With is other arm, he gripped the younger man's wrist.  
"Ready?"

Neal nodded, afraid that his words would betray him.

Peter tried to tug Neal up as quickly as he could. He could only imagine the agony that Neal was in. Neal was on his hands and his knees facing Peter, his blue eyes focused intently on his knees.

"Neal?"

"Give…..me a… s…..second….." Neal's voice sounded pitiful even to his own ears. Neal focused a shallow breath in, a shallow breath out. In, out, in, out. He could feel himself beginning to pass out, and he fought it. He felt Peter's hand muffle his hair, and Neal smiled despite himself. _ I need to be stronger than this. I need to be _"stronger than this". He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.

"What was that, Neal?" Peter eyed him with concern. Neal just shook his head, feeling betrayed now by both his body and his mind.

The two men crawled through the vent in mostly silence. Occasionally, Peter would turn to check on Neal, usually when Neal's wheezing grew more labored or when it stopped altogether. "I'm fine…" he murmured, answering the question he knew was coming. God, how he hated feeling so weak.

They'd reached the end of the airduct. According to Neal's instruction, they simply had to climb out and would be outside, by the shrubs near the old parking lot.

Peter felt relieve flood through him as he kicked open the metal grating and saw the sun. He climbed towards the edge and scooted out, his feet landing on green grass. He turned, meeting Neal's wide blue eyes.

Neal looked at the four foot drop.. _This is going to hurt._ Neal had put on a brave face, but it was all he could do to drag himself through the airducts. He knew that he was on the verge of blacking out, and that kind of drop… he would land flat on his face. The pain he was in left him a bit unguarded and easier to read than usual. He glanced down at Peter who was now outside. Peter nodded, understanding.

"It's okay. I've got you. Just need you to ease your legs out first, and I'm going to help you down."

Neal grimaced and extended his legs out first. They felt like led. He hesitated, trying to brace himself for the impact and the certain pain, gently squeezing his eyes shut.

The conman had grown quiet for too long, and Peter grew worried. "Neal."

Neal responded with a grumble. _I need to be stronger than this. I need to be stronger than this._  
Again, Neal didn't realize he had muttered the words aloud.

Peter searched Neal's face, reaching his hand up to guide Neal's face, to get the younger man to look into his eyes. "You are strong, Neal. But it's been a rough day. And it's okay to ask for help. So if you feel weak, you fall back on me, okay?"

Neal blinked back tears and nodded.  
Neal took a shaky breath and pushed himself out of the airduct. Peter quickly locked his arms around the young man to catch his fall, to absorb the impact. Neal clenched his teeth, effectively stifling the whimper in his throat.

Neal's eyes were closed as the two men rose to their feet again, Peter dragging Neal for the most part.  
"Peter…. think I need….to take a break…" he drawled.  
"Mm mm, nope. Gotta keep moving. Cowboy up Neal."  
"Please." Neal's voice broke on the word. Neal looked up at him, such anguish in his eyes that it took all of Peter's reserve to deny him.  
"Sorry, Neal. We need to get out of here." _And then what? Drag Neal miles out to the highway?_  
Peter tightened his grip on his friend as they walked. Peter almost felt as though he had to have a tangible grip on the young man as if to remind himself that Neal was really there, that he was alive.

Neal felt his legs begin to buckle as he exhaled a shaky breath that he hadn't realize he had been holding. "Sorry…" he whispered as he heard Peter grunt under the unexpected added weight.

Fifteen minutes came and went as Peter and Neal walked, though they hadn't made it very far. Peter was growing sore from supporting his friend, and Neal was growing more and more tired and lightheaded.

But Peter and Neal kept moving.

"Peter?"

Neal felt his heart swell as he stole a glance at his friend. He'd lost the strength to even hold his head up, and thus his head was resting against Peter's shoulder, nearly cradled in the nook between the agent's  
shoulder and neck. Neal had never known someone to care for him so much, to be so kind to him, so loving. In many ways, Neal was the father that he'd never had. Of course, he wasn't about to say all that- he doubted he even had the strength- so instead, he settled on a choked out "thank you."

He heard Peter sigh.  
"Don't mention it, partner."

Suddenly, Neal's eyes grew frantic and he struggled to take a breath, to warn his friend.  
"Peter?"  
"Yeah, buddy?"

James Lucas rose a bat to Peter's head and took a swing.

Neal watched as Peter crumpled to the ground, Neal tumbling along beside him.  
"You… sick…. s-son of a…" Neal's world, too, faded to black.


	7. Chapter 7: Rope

Peter's eyes opened, adjusting to the hazy light filtering through the room. The positioning of the sun and its shadows told Peter is was just around 5pm versus the high noon sun when he and Neal had been fleeing the former FBI building. _Great, I've been out for five hours.._

Peter groggily stirred. He was slumped against the exposed brick wall of the interrogation room. He noticed a room separator, similar to the ones he'd seen in those doctor shows that El so enjoyed. He could sense movement behind it, but the curtain's material was too thick to see a silhouette or anything.

Unsteadily, Peter rose to his feet. His head was pounding, and he knew instinctively that he had a concussion. Before he had a chance to assess the situation, James Lucas emerged from behind the curtain, rope in his left hand. Catching Peter's gaze to the rope, Lucas chuckled.

"Don't worry, _Agent _Burke. The rope's not for you. Here-" he tossed a set of handcuffs at Peter. Peter's usual reflexes were off due to his current state, and the cuffs grazed his face before clashing with the wall.

"Tsk tsk…" Lucas mocked. "Pick 'em up, and cuff yourself."

Peter clenched his jaw, trying to determine how he was going to tackle Lucas.

"I wouldn't get any smart ideas, Burke. Pick up the cuffs." Lucas's enjoyment was apparent as he pulled a gun from his back pocket, aiming the thing at Peter's chest.

Peter dizzily retrieved the cuffs from the ground and loosely cuffed his left wrist. He was about to close the other when Lucas stopped him. "Up there," he smirked.

There was an exposed pipe running along the wall, and there was a two, maybe three inch, separation of the pipe from the wall.

Peter hesitated.

"NOW!"

Peter had to stand on his toes to reach and to fling the handcuffs across the pipe. He'd been so focused on that (in conjunction with the dizziness his self-diagnosed concussion was causing him) that he hadn't heard Lucas stride over to him. It was only as he felt the man's smooth grip around his wrist that he locked eyes with the man.

Peter stifled a groan as Lucas closed the cuffs as tight as they would go around Peter's wrists, the metal biting into his them. He tried to hold back a squirm as Lucas breathed in his ear "much better." Peter had to dance on his tip-toes to alleviate the pressure on his wrists. He knew this was going to grow much more than uncomfortable, and quickly.

"Where's Neal?" He hadn't even realized he'd spoken. For a foolish moment, he entertained the idea that Neal had escaped. The last thing he remembered, after all, was looking at his friend when, boom, lights out and he'd woken up here. But hell, Neal had barely been able to move before... there was no way he'd escaped.

Peter stole a glance at the rope in Lucas's hands, the realization sinking in. _No. _  
He frantically looked at the man, and then his eyes darted around the room. Above the curtain, there was a pipe, and he could see rope hanging from the pipe. _  
No, no, no._

The image of Neal hanging, a noose around his neck, those lifeless eyes staring at nothing… of Neal Caffrey hanging dead… _No, no, no._

Lucas grinned and tore the cloth-material aside.

Neal's hands were tied together, and his limp body was hanging from the pipe. Neal's feet and calves skimmed the floor, showing Peter that Neal had more than likely been conscious when he'd been tied to the pipe and that his position had been similar to that of Peter's. He shuddered at what Lucas must have done to Neal while Peter was unconscious.

"Couldn't go and use handcuffs on him now, especially after the mutt tried to pick them in the chair earlier today.." Lucas laughed as though it were a funny memory he was recalling.

"Why are you doing this." Neal's voice sounded hopeless and strangled. _Was Neal even conscious, even aware of what he was saying?_ Peter's breath hitched as he strained to listen to his friend.

Neal struggled to move his legs, to support his weight and to ease the agony of his ribs, his arms, his battered body. Lucas did nothing, he and Peter both realizing that Neal wasn't going to be able to get himself to his feet. His legs buckled from under him, causing the rope to swing a little and sending Neal back to his almost-knees with a cry.

Lucas smiled and looked at Peter, though he was standing next to Neal.

"What, no questions for you, _Agent _Burke?"

Peter tried to form a question, settling on the first words that tumbled from his lips. "We arrested you."

Lucas smiled; clearly, this was the question he'd been waiting on.  
"No, your men arrested my business partner."  
_How?  
_"I'm sure you're wondering how…" The room was swimming before Peter, but he knew he needed to keep Lucas talking.

"Ask me how your goons were able to arrest the wrong man and let me walk free."

It took Peter a moment too long to form the words when a cry jolted him back to attention. He'd missed whatever it was that made Neal cry out, but the gleam in Lucas's eyes told him that Lucas had caused it. He ropes were swinging sadistically. _Bastard._

"I trust I have your attention?"

Peter huffed. "How was the wrong man arrested?"

"Why, thank you for asking! It was simple—I just hacked into the FBI database of DNA and switched out the DNA listed as his with mine, and vise versa. When you ran my DNA, it showed in the system his photo with my name and information above it. You people pride yourself on that weak little system… ha. It was hardly a challenge!"

Peter bit the inside of his cheek.  
"I can get him a deal. Get him… out… Uncuff me, we can talk about this…" Peter bargained.

Lucas scoffed. "You think that's why you're here? I knew you morons were on my tail. That's why I set Larry up. He's brute force, but he's all muscle, no brain. We're here for a reason, _Agent Burke_, and until you remember what it is… well…."

Lucas made a motion at a baseball bat lying on the floor. There was a splotch of blood on it—Peter's—from when Lucas had knocked him out.

Lucas curled his fingers around the bat and took a step towards Peter. He raised the bat to Peter's neck and smiled at the anger in Peter's eyes. He drove the end of the bat into Peter's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Peter struggled for breath, trying to curl away from the bat, though there was nowhere to back up to.

Lucas twisted the bat further and further into Peter's chest. Peter's chest was on fire, his vision was blurring, and he gasped, begging for air that wasn't coming. He felt his legs begin to give, and as he stumbled, the edge of the cuffs cut into his wrists. Peter could feel the hot and sticky blood running down his sore arms.

"_Coward." _Neal's voice was faint from across the room. Abruptly, the pressure was off of Peter, and he swallowed mouthfuls of air trying to clear his vision. His eyes shot over towards Neal.  
"What did you say, mutt?"  
Neal rolled his head up so that his eyes could meet Lucas's.  
"Coward."  
Lucas backhanded Neal across his already swollen cheekbone.

Neal could take it. He already knew he wasn't doing so well… but if Lucas was beating him, then he wasn't beating Peter.

Neal knew their odds weren't great, but in the condition he was in, he knew he didn't have a shot at breaking free. Peter was their best hope. His only chance at securing freedom for them both was if he could keep Lucas occupied enough for Peter to slip out of those cuffs…

Peter wasn't dense. He realized what Neal was doing, and he silently cursed the man for it. _Neal and his heroics._

Neal kept muttering insults, trying his best not to cry out when Lucas would swing the bat his way. _I'll give him one thing…_ Neal thought brokenly. _He's unpredictable. _By that, Neal meant that Lucas didn't have a preference when it came to torture, so long as there was indeed torture. This man was a sadist.

A blow to the ribs, the sliver of a cool knife across his back, a kick to the leg… or the cruelest of all, for occasionally, Lucas would embrace Neal as though he were hugging him only to hang with his full weight, stretching Neal out and putting force all over his aching body. Neal was quiet for the most part, but whenever it was time for a twisted hug, Neal would cry out. _It hurts._

Occasionally, the world would fade and Neal would be rewarded with sweet nothingness, only to be stirred back by a cruel blow or fresh pain. Neal was aware of a conversation of sorts between Peter and Lucas, though he wasn't really at his best cognitively to listen. The words were more of a hum of vibrations he could feel rather than actively listen to.

When the pain stopped for too long, Neal would grow worried that Lucas had moved on to Peter.

And thus would begin the cycle of a new insult, a new taunt to regain his captor's attention… and the pain would begin again.

Neal wasn't sure if it was his doing that kept Lucas fixated on him, if it was the question/answer game that Lucas and Peter had going, if Lucas was just a sadist, or if it was a brilliant and horrific mixture of the three. Neal's brain was mush, and it was hard to keep these things straight.

As the torture commenced, Neal repeated the facts he knew to be true in his mind, if only to stay alert (or as alert as he could be).

_Lucas put a hit on Peter.  
I saved Peter.  
Lucas kidnapped us.  
We almost escaped.  
Tied to a pipe, Peter's cuffed to a pipe, Lucas has a… ouch….bat.  
Twisted hug.  
Nothing but a suit.  
Lucas put a hit on Peter.  
I saved Peter.  
Lucas kidnapped us.  
Lucas…  
Lucas.._

Dammit. So hard to think. I need to be stronger than this.  
"I need to be stronger than this."

Peter's heart broke. Dear god, please let this end.

_  
**I'm having a bit of trouble tying in Lucas's angle and why he is now holding Peter captive. Please help a girl out! I've got the next chapter all typed up, but it doesn't really click together unless I can come up with a good reason to add to the story arc.**


	8. Chapter 8: Just getting started

_**This is just a short chapter, told from James Lucas's point of view. I'll be updating either tonight or tomorrow with the next chapter- a quite long one. I'm still trying to fill in some of the blanks, so suggestions are welcomed. I want to know what you want to see in this.  
**__

Lucas grinned each time he hurt the young man. He was downright giddy.  
Lucas had intended on hurting Peter- Peter was the man he detested- but hurting Neal got him more of a reaction than he could have hoped for. And hell, once Neal was all used up, he could move on to Peter.

"You really don't remember? Are you that arrogant, that full of yourself, that you don't remember!"  
A bat to Caffrey's ribs. A choked cry.

"Please!" Burke begged.  
Lucas could see how skinned Agent Burke's hands were from the cuffs. _Good._

"Look at where we are, _Agent _Burke. Take it in. Because I'm just getting started."  
A swing of the bat to Caffrey's ribs again. A sharp intake of breath.  
And another swing.

The agent lunged forward, looking like a tormented man. His brown eyes burned with an intensity that Lucas had never seen before. _Fascinating. _

"I'll give you a hint. _David._"

Burke wasn't getting it.

Lucas hung his body on Neal's, almost like a hug, but in a torturous sense. He could hear Burke pleading for him to stop, but that just drove him on.

"I wonder how much a human body can take…" Lucas mused.


	9. Chapter 9: The hero dies in this one

_Just a disclaimer- this chapter is very dark.  
__

About an hour had gone past, and Neal was pretty much used up. Time to dispose of him and move on to Burke.

With a sigh, Lucas sauntered over to Peter.  
"You smug son of a bitch... you really don't know who I am, do you?"

Peter looked into those mad, wild eyes.

"It's okay, because you will. You'll see him, and you'll be begging to forget."

He pulled out a knife, casually running it along Peter's cheek. Peter turned his face away but tried to keep his face blank. He felt the knife lick his face, but he betrayed nothing.

Lucas could feel Burke's tension. "Don't worry, this isn't for you."  
He crossed the room to Neal and held the knife.  
Peter couldn't breathe.

Lucas sliced through Neal's ropes, sending the man to the ground with a sickening thud.  
_What is he doing?_

The next thing Peter knew, Lucas was on top of a still unconscious Neal, wrapping his fingers around the artist's neck.

Neal stirred, and his bloodshot eyes opened as his body registered the lack of oxygen.

Neal's fingers fumbled clumsily, searching, reaching in vain for anything to make Lucas let up on the pressure. He was vaguely aware of skimming Lucas's shoulders. Black tinges flicked through his vision, and Neal felt his strength and reserve leave him. His head was pounding with an ache unlike any he'd ever felt, and his entire body was on fire, flames licking each nerve, his agony seemingly endless.

Peter, still cuffed to the pipe, was powerless to save his partner, but dammit, that didn't stop him from trying. "Lucas! Stop! You're killing him!"

Peter could feel warmth gliding down his burning wrists as he lunged forward towards Neal. The irregular clinging of the metal handcuffs against the sturdy pipe reminded him of how useless he was. Peter gasped in horror, watching Neal's wide blue eyes blink slowly.

"NEAL!" Peter couldn't stop the choked cry in his friend's name as he yelled out. "Neal!"

Neal's arms were shaking, and Peter knew that the sight before him would haunt him until his deathbed. Neal's head lulled to the side so that he was looking directly at Peter, his eyes wide and haunted, his hollow gaze burning Peter's core. Black seeped through Neal's vision. _Need…to…be….stronger than…this... _Neal's consciousness was melting away, slipping_._Neal's hands slipped from Lucas's and limply dropped to the ground, the fight leaving his body…

Neal's eyes remained open. Peter forced himself to look away from the brilliant man's empty gaze and at Caffrey's chest. _  
Dear God, no! Please no!  
_  
Neal's chest wasn't rising and falling as it should have been. Neal wasn't breathing, and as Peter stole a glance into Neal's eyes, he felt his blood run cold. Neal's gaze was fixed blankly ahead, his eyes glassed over. "NO!" he wailed, losing all control. Peter felt his knees buckle beneath him, causing excruciating pain in his grated wrists.

Lucas, that smug son of a bitch, just smiled wickedly. He held on to Neal's neck for another half minute, though it was clearly unnecessary. He sighed with feigned concern, mocking Peter… not that Peter was even looking. Peter's eyes never wavered from the unmoving stare of his partner. "Neal…" he gurgled, his despair overcoming him. _The brilliant conman, his best friend… damn near a little brother to him if he ever had one…_

Fury overtook Agent Burke as a string of profanities escaped his lips. He needed to get to Neal, to perform CPR if the kid had any chance… what little chance he did have was slipping away. Neal's lips were tinged blue, and his chest was unmoving… his eyes still wide open. _He's d-_ Peter wouldn't even let himself continue the thought. He just kept pulling on the cuffs. Peter was grateful for the lubricant that his warm blood provided as he painfully pulled his mangled hands from the cuffs.

Lucas was still looming over Neal, clearly admiring his handiwork, when Peter lunged at him. The element of surprise had Peter slamming into Lucas, quickly knocking the man unconscious. Peter scrambled over to Neal and felt for a pulse…

He didn't find one.

_Dammit, no! No!_

He wplugged Neal's nose and as his lips touched Neal's, gave him quick breaths, followed by chest compressions. Again, his lips covered his ashen partner's, breathing air into his lungs, willing life into his feeble body.

Peter continued this twisted pattern for what felt like an eternity but in reality was about two minutes. Peter could feel hot tears running down his face, but he wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop. Neal needed him. Peter ignored the agony in his battered and skinned hands as he pressed down on Neal's lifeless body, willing him back to life. A muffled cry escaped Peter's lips as he struggled to catch his breath.  
"Please…"

He looked down at Neal, those piercing eyes looking into his.  
_Piercing eyes that a moment ago had seemed so lifeless…_

"Neal! _Caffrey._" Peter's heart was breaking, but there was a new hope that maybe Neal was alive, that the brilliant man had one last trick up his sleeve. Peter was almost afraid to let himself believe it, but the alternative scared him even more.

Peter resumed CPR and stopped as he heard his friend take in a jagged breath, followed by a coughing fit. Peter's relief was indescribable. The sound of the ex-con's jagged breathing was the most beautifully haunting sound his ears had ever heard.

Neal made a motion to sit up, a stifled cry escaping his lips as he winced, his back arching and a gurgled grunt dripping from his tongue.

Peter eased Neal into a sitting position, pulling his upper body onto Peter's lap. Peter could feel Neal's body tense and silently apologized.

Neal tried to speak but still lacked the strength, greedily filling his lungs with air, precious air.  
"P-P'ter," he gasped, his tone unusually breathy and hoarse. He blinked rapidly as if fighting his way back to the surface from a world that only he could see. Peter could tell he was fading and trying to stay above the surface.

Peter looked at the young man intently, his eyes refusing to leave Neal's. He needed to look into those eyes, to see the life in them, to remind himself that Neal was indeed alive. The image of those lifeless eyes haunted him already.

"P-P'ter…" Neal's head dipped forward. Peter absently ran his hands through Neal's curly locks. He needed a tangible hold on Neal. "I'm right here, buddy. Look at me. You're safe now, you're safe."

He had hoped for Neal to realize that they were indeed safe, but instead, Neal looked more terrified than ever.

Neal tried to speak again, the pain the action caused him all over his usually masked face.  
"Don't speak. Save your strength, catch your breath. But please, can you open your eyes, can you look at me? Neal. _Caffrey._" He held tighter to the lithe man's trembling body. "You're safe now, I've got you…" he whispered, his voice rough.

Neal needed to make Peter understand, but he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs to form a coherent thought, to form a sentence, much less speak. He wilted, trying so hard to make Peter understand.

With all his power, he spoke his friend's name. But Peter wasn't understanding and just kept looking at him as if Neal was going to disappear. He tried again, silently urging Peter to understand.

"P-P'ter," he groaned. He felt Peter's hands caressing his hair in a comforting gesture, but Neal just shook his head. _Please understand. _

"I'm right here, buddy. Look at me. You're safe now, you're safe." Peter said to him. Peter spoke a few more words, but Neal was slipping against the pain, sinking further and further. He was able to catch a few words. "….catch your breath… please…. look at me…. _Caffrey._"

It was the desperation in Peter's voice that snapped Neal to attention. He felt Peter's hand through his damp hair. "You're safe now, I've got you.."

_No! No!_ Neal felt himself fading. "Partner," he slurred.

Peter smiled a heartbreaking smile. "Yes, buddy. You're my partner. And I've got you."  
_No! _Neal needed to make Peter understand.  
"No… p-partner…." he stirred.  
Peter was confused. He looked at the young man. He could see Neal struggling to stay with him. Peter couldn't imagine the pain Neal was in, but he needed him to stay conscious.

"Not just… Lucas…" _So dizzy… need to….warn Peter. _"Partner…. Lucas has…"

And then it clicked.

Peter finished the sentence for Neal.  
"A partner." Peter felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. _Just when I thought this was over._

Neal slumped against Peter's chest, giving a slight nod, the darkness toying with his vision again.

Peter recalled the last thing Lucas had said to him before nearly ending Neal's life.  
_"It's okay, because you will. You'll see him, and you'll be begging to forget."_  
_Him. Lucas's partner… the reason this was all happening.  
_  
"Help me up…" Neal murmured.

Peter didn't want to move him—Neal's body was broken. But Peter knew they needed to get moving… and so the two men scrambled to their feet, Neal wilted against Peter. "I've got you.." Peter whispered tensely. And he meant it. Peter was not letting go.


	10. small note!

Hello friends!

I haven't forgotten about this story, nor have I abandoned it. I'll be back to updating soon.

In the meanwhile, please leave me some prompts as to what you'd like to see. I really love writing Neal whump, but I'm up for trying anything. Small aside- I see Neal/Peter's relationship as brotherly/paternalistic, though I've read some good slash fiction and am willing to give it a go as well.

Anyhow, just let me know what you'd like or if you have any requests!

-Amber


	11. Chapter 10: So close, so close

_Step by step.  
The door.  
Tunneling vision.  
The door was closer.  
Pain, dizziness…. Everything was so damn blurry.  
A warm, concerned pair of brown eyes looking into his.  
Fading faster, now.  
An exploding pain in his chest, a pain seeping into his bloodstream and pounding with each unsteady heartbeat.  
Exhaustion.  
Panting.  
A broken sob.  
Blackness.  
__

Peter struggled to support Neal. The kid was trying, but the trembling in his body gave a small indication of the agony he was in.

Peter held tightly to his friend, and step by step, they inched their way towards the door. He would steal glances towards his friend, needing to reassure that he was still there. Even more often, he would glare over to Lucas, needing to assure himself that he was still out cold. Peter had wanted nothing more than to bash the sick bastard's head in, but Neal needed him.

Neal's eyes, for the most part, remained locked ahead, though occasionally, they would roll back behind his head for a minute, only for Neal to shake his head a bit and return to him.

Peter's support alternated- every few minutes, Neal would fall into him, giving Peter the brunt of his weight. His knees would buckle, but Neal never uttered a sound. He just kept dragging himself forward, clutching desperately to Peter with a white-knuckled grip.

The door was right in front of them. And of course, it was locked.  
Peter could feel Neal moving at his side, and he turned his head to look.

There was a sheen layer of sweat all over Neal's wan features, and he was pressing his lips together to conceal a whimper—his lips were so light. Before Peter could ask what he was doing, Neal had plucked his lock-picking tools from his pocket. He laughed, though it came out more as a groan. "Lucas….forgot to frisk me…"

Neal shakily rose his hand to pick the lock, the choked cry escaping his lips as the action aggravated his crude stitches. Neal could feel each stitch tearing but he couldn't stop.

"Neal…" Peter spat out in horror. Neal just shook his head.  
"Just…give me a minute…. Let me do this."  
"Neal, no."

Neal weakly turned his head so that he could meet Peter's gaze.

"Do you see another way out of here? I didn't think so! Dammit Peter, let…[wheezing breath] me do… [wheezing breath] something. I've been….[wheezing breath] s-so…. f-fucking u-useless [wet cough]."  
Neal was shaking, his outburst clearly taking a lot out of him.

Neal dropped to his knees, protesting Peter's support. He needed to be eye level with the lock, and bending wasn't an option.

Neal extended his hands, feeling his blood dripping down his torso from his busted stitches. He was hyper-aware of his ribs, of his bruises, of all of the pain, but he forced himself to shut it off. The pain was so intense that it was almost numbing. Neal forced through it, fumbling with the lock.

Peter had sunk to his knees as well, though now he was behind Neal, one hand on his back, the other ready and waiting to catch him should he collapse. Peter's heart was thumping in his ears as he watched the younger man work. His face had gone even whiter than before, if that was even possible, as he maneuvered the locks.

_How was Neal even conscious?_

Peter felt his gaze trickle down to the blood seeping through Neal's shirt and then forced his eyes away.

Neal let out a huff and opened the door.  
"Gotcha," he croaked/chuckled.  
Sunlight.  
They were so close, so close, so close.


	12. Chapter 12: And he too was silent

Adrenaline made these next few moments go by so quickly, yet achingly slow in their own right.

About ten steps outside, Neal had collapsed… and much to Peter's dismay, he wasn't waking up.  
Peter had pleaded with him, had briefly considered slapping his face (though he'd decided against it—there was scarcely and uninjured spot to touch), and eventually settled on carrying the young man fireman style.

Lifting him had been a challenge; Peter's hands were mangled and bloody, and he had barely muffled a cry as he flexed his fingers in order to form a protective grip on the CI.

The only thing that kept him quiet and moving was the thought of another man, a _partner _of Lucas's, out there and ready to do them harm. If what Lucas had said was correct… than this mystery partner was the mastermind behind their whole ordeal. Peter had trouble wrapping his head around the idea of Lucas working for someone- Lucas… who had nearly robbed him of his best friend's life…

_The next thing Peter knew, Lucas was on top of a still unconscious Neal, wrapping his fingers around the artist's neck._

_Neal stirred, and his bloodshot eyes opened as his body registered the lack of oxygen._

_Neal's fingers fumbled clumsily, searching, reaching in vain for anything to make Lucas let up on the pressure._

Peter's hand were throbbing as he trekked on. He kept glancing at his pale friend. Even while unconscious, his face wore a pained grimace.

_Peter, still cuffed to the pipe, was powerless to save his partner, but dammit, that didn't stop him from trying. "Lucas! Stop! You're killing him!"_

Peter flexed his fingers a bit, fixing his hold on Neal, further securing him in his arms.

_Peter could feel warmth gliding down his burning wrists as he lunged forward towards Neal. The irregular clinging of the metal handcuffs against the sturdy pipe reminded him of how useless he was. Peter gasped in horror, watching Neal's wide blue eyes blink slowly._

_"NEAL!" Peter couldn't stop the choked cry in his friend's name as he yelled out. "Neal!"_

_Neal's arms were shaking, and Peter knew that the sight before him would haunt him until his deathbed. Neal's head lulled to the side so that he was looking directly at Peter, his eyes wide and haunted, his hollow gaze burning Peter's core._

Neal's hands slipped from Lucas's and limply dropped to the ground, the fight leaving his body…

_Neal's eyes remained open._

Peter looked down at Neal again. He could feel bile in his throat. Without the younger man's company (his main purpose for the past few hours had been guiding Neal, keeping him alert), without the distraction, he could only flash back to their horrendous ordeal. This kind of stuff just didn't happen in real life- it was the stuff of horror films.

If Neal and Peter survived this- no, _when_ they survived this- it was going to haunt them for a while.

Neal wheezed painfully, a wet cough shaking tremors through his tired body. Aside from the occasionally wheeze or terrible cough, Neal's breathing was shallow and a lot quicker than Peter would have liked—it bordered on panting, as though the man couldn't get enough air into his lungs. Peter's heart ached for the young man.

Peter was growing more and more tired; his legs were shaking a bit. But he pushed the thoughts away. _Surely Diana and Jones know where we are. _

As if on cue, a squad car pulled up. An anxious Diana was rushing to them.  
"Boss?" Her voice was thick with concern, her eyes scanning the situation. She holstered her gun and placed a delicate hand on Peter's arm.

"Jones! They're here!" She hollered to him.

Peter's relief was palpable, but he wasn't going to rest until he saw Neal open his eyes again, until the kid cringed at the sight of deviled ham, rolled his eyes at Peter's choice of tie…

Diana's warm brown eyes were shiny- odd, she wasn't a crier- as she spoke.  
"Peter, we need to ease him down, okay? We need to- oh God, your hands," she sputtered in horror.

Peter shook his head, unwilling to let go of Neal. Peter could feel the sunlight, the warmth of being outside, and he could see Diana and Jones, but all he could feel were the tremors in Neal's body, and all he could hear were Neal's anguished cries as Lucas hung from his body in one of those god damned _hugs._

Diana was barking orders into a cell phone. Peter caught some of the words: _Caffrey. Burke. The old headquarters. Not good. No. No time._

Jones was at their side, a mask of horror on his face as well.  
"We don't have time to wait for an ambulance. We need to go _now_," Diana told Jones.

"Peter, you need to let us help you. And Caffrey." Jones spoke like he was afraid of spooking him.

Peter felt his legs give out as he slid to the ground, trying to cushion Neal as he sank.

"Boss?"

"It was James Lucas. We just… closed the case on him. He _stabbed_ Neal, or um, he had someone do it. And then brought us here. He-He… He _killed_ Neal." Peter rattled out all of the details as he felt Neal stirring.

"Peter, Neal's alive, it's okay. But we need to get you both help." Jones sighed.  
Neal's eyes fluttered open.

"Neal?"

"Where are we?" Neal sounded terribly confused.

"Outside of the old quarters- Neal, do you remember what-"

Neal interrupted him with a terrible cough. A look of remembrance on his face, Neal shuddered. "Yeah. Um.. c-can we g-get out of here?" His voice was still so quiet.

Peter was ready to carry Neal.  
"I can walk.." he protested feebly.

_Honestly, that might be best… keep him awake and alert._ Jones thought to himself. He met Diana's gaze and could tell she was thinking the same thing.

Neal hadn't remembered passing out. He just remembered hearing his name a few times after they'd left the building… and then the next thing he knew, he was on the ground and cradled in Peter's lap. He could feel fresh blood on him- _blood from Peter's disfigured hands, oh God_- and took in their surrounds. Jones. Diana. Peter.

Neal felt himself being hoisted up by Jones and Diana. Jones had an arm around Neal's waist- _God, that hurt_- and had Neal's right arm wrapped around his neck.

Peter was on the other side of him and doing the same thing.

Diana was on Peter's side, a supportive hand on his back. The four of them walked towards the FBI van. To an outsider, they probably looked like the characters from the Wizard of Oz, though instead of ruby red slippers, there was ruby red blood smeared about the two center men.

Neal's breathing was jagged, raw, pained, and were it not for the two men on either side holding him up, we would've collapsed. He felt his knees buckle, his legs go out. Neal was breathless as the pain shot through his entire body, and he shivered involuntarily. He was blinded by it, and his head lull in front of him.

They eased Neal into the back seat of the van, and Diana slid in next to him, cradling Neal's head on her lap. Peter had protested, but he sat in the front seat now, though he had the passenger's side mirror adjusted so that he could keep watch on Diana and Neal.

Jones drove as fast as he could towards the hospital, though it was a good fifteen minutes away.

Peter filled them in on everything that had happened, filtering out how bad his own injuries had been. Of course, Diana and Jones knew, but they let him recall his version of events anyhow.

"Uh… Jones?" Diana's voice was unusually shaky.

"Yeah?"

"We close?" Her voice was tight, controlled.

"About five minutes out, everything okay?"

Diana didn't answer.

Peter stole a look at the two, turning his body so that he was facing them…

And he too was silent.


	13. Chapter 13: Silence on the road

Neal could hear conversation around him, but he wasn't processing any of it. He was aware that the car had grown completely silent.

Neal's eyes stared blankly at the roof of the car. He could make out Diana's blurry form leaning over him, and he could almost feel her hands on each side of his face (somewhat like the sensation of feathers against skin, light and barely noticeable), but he was deep within himself, trapped in his mind and in this dungeon of a body that didn't seem to be his anymore.

Neal's back arched, his body trembled, and he was powerless to control it. The seizures weren't so much as painful in themselves, but rather the actions they caused. Each seizure sent rippling pain through his injuries, but Neal was powerless to even cry out as his throat had begun to swell due to his strangulation earlier. Painful, ragged gasps were his only form of communication as each seizure brought a new wave of agony. After what felt like an eternity, Neal's eyes rolled into the back of his head and then- nothing.

The car was silent.

Jones had his eyes locked in front of him, maneuvering through traffic. _Almost there, almost there._

Diana had her hands secured on Neal's face, stabilizing him so that, with each thrash of his mangled body, his head and neck were secure. Her eyes searched his for recognition, but he didn't seem aware of her.

Peter was clenching his fists—his hands were a mess, and the pain that the action caused was welcome by him. He deserved it. This was his fault. Neal was hurt, and it was his fault.

There were animalistic grunts and whimpers that died in Neal's throat with each pained breath. His body was like a rag doll one moment and then tense and ready to snap the next. Limp, tense, limp, tense. Pain was written all over his face, though he didn't seem to really be with them anymore.

Still, everyone was quiet in their mutual horror.

Neal's eyes rolled a bit so that his brilliant blue orbs were no longer visible- there was only white. They stayed this way for a moment or two as his body sadistically arched oncemore, and then his eyes closed. There was a quiet, rapid, yet terribly shallow breathing coming from his tired body.

"Caffrey?" Diana's voice betrayed her emotion.  
No response.

Everyone remained quiet, listening for the pained breathing, the only proof that Neal was alive.

Neal's breathing slowed a bit, diminishing from quick to normal to slower… to slower. It seemed an eternity, but they were finally at the hospital.

Jones jumped from the car and ran around, opening Diana's door and easing Neal out.

Peter had sprung as well. He ran into the hospital to get a doctor.

Immediately, a doctor rushed towards him, assessing him with rapid eye movements.  
_Blood. Neal's blood._  
Of course, the doctor didn't know that and assumed that Peter was hurt more direly than he was.

"Sir, are you alright?"  
The doctor had gently latched onto his arm and was guiding him towards a chair.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, but my friend-"  
The doctor was looking him over.

"Sir, where are you hurt?"

Peter snapped at the man.

"God dammit, my friend! THIS. ISN'T. MY. BLOOD."  
Peter made an effort to conceal his hands.

The doctor sighed. This man was obviously in shock and in need of medical attention.

"Sir, I'm going to give you a sedative to calm you down, okay? Reynolds, can you come over here, please?"

"L-Listen to me-"

Suddenly, Peter was forgotten as Jones fireman-carried Neal into the hospital.  
"I NEED HELP! I NEED HELP!"

Peter felt a prick, realizing he'd been given a sedative by a young woman, presumably the nurse 'Reynolds'. His legs felt like jello, and he reluctantly slumped into the chair the doctor had guided him towards.

His eyes were glued to Neal, watching as the young man was placed on a bed and as the doctors were swarming around him. Everything was getting blurry though.

"He isn't breathing! Shit! He's going into V-fib. Get the paddles- we're gonna need to shock him!"

Peter could hear Jones relaying what Peter had told him as Neal was carted behind some swinging doors.

"_We're losing him!"_

Special thanks to Labrine for help with medical mumbo jumbo! Labrine left a review with help on my other fanfiction with a recommendation as to what to say, and I've used it here as well.


	14. Chapter 14: Walking on Eggshells

_I've had a bit of writer's block on this one! I know where I want the story to go- I'm just trying to figure out how to get it there! Anyhow, I'm working on the next chapter and should have it up tonight or tomorrow morning. ;) -Amber  
__

It had been hours. Hours since Neal had been carted to surgery.

Peter was in a separate room, in a hospital bed of his own. His battered hands were bandaged, and he had a grade two concussion. He was so damn tired… but even if he'd been allowed to sleep (he wasn't—every time he would nod off, an orderly would wake him and run through concussion questions, ie: what is the date, who is the president, and then a surprise question), he wouldn't have been able to. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of Neal's lifeless body, of his own uselessness.

He needed Neal to pull through. Of course Caffrey could, right? The kid was almost superhuman.  
_Though he certainly didn't seem superhuman when his heart had stopped beating._

El was stirring. She'd fallen asleep in a chair next to her husband, her head resting on the arm that she had draped across her husband. Peter hadn't realized how worked up he was getting himself, thus causing the heart monitor to increase.

Deep, calming breath. Peter needed to calm down. El looked utterly exhausted, and Peter would be damned if he was going to cause any more damage to anyone else that night. His eyes danced over her sleeping form. God, how he loved her.

Now that he let himself, think about it, it terrified him just how close he'd come to never seeing her again.

He took a shuddering breath.

A few hours later, maybe a little longer—he couldn't really keep track of time, and the clock seemed oddly blurry to him- a familiar face arrived. Diana.

"Hey, boss," she spoke quietly, her eyes flickering to Elizabeth. She was awake, leaning over her husband and giving him a gentile kiss. She could tell that Diana needed to talk with Peter and quietly excused herself "to get and get some coffee". As soon as he heard the door close, his eyes bore into Diana's.

"Any news on Neal?"

Diana smiled—it was a pained smile, but a smile nonetheless. She was looking at her pale, wan boss. She'd never seen Peter look so ill, so unnerved. In spite of the bandages on his hands, Diana could still see bruising and stitches skittered along his forearms. It looked incredibly painful, and practically, she knew that Peter would be impaired for a while without the use of both of his hands.

Being Diana, she had flashed her badge and gotten some information on Peter before she'd stopped in. Granted, she had gotten just enough to file the report (her excuse), but since she wasn't family, she hadn't been allowed all of the information. Same went for information regarding Caffrey.

Peter had nerve damage in both hands, more so in his right. She figured that was because he'd used his right hand to lead Neal's chest compressions. He would regain full motion of his left hand in time, and with physical therapy, he could regain up to 90% mobility in his right.

Peter was still looking at her, waiting for an answer.

"He's out of surgery—he's pretty banged up. I wasn't able to get as much information on him, but Jones is with him now. They moved him into ICU." Diana couldn't bring herself to say the next words, so she swallowed thickly, her eyes wavering from Peter's gaze for half a second.

"What." Peter could tell something was up.

Saved by Elizabeth's presence, Diana nodded a greeting at the woman before excusing herself.  
"Diana- Diana!" Peter called after her, cursing under his breath.

"Everything alright, hon?" It killed Elizabeth to see her husband like this—physically and emotionally. She was worried about Neal—he'd burrowed his way into their lives and home and heart, but she couldn't stand the thought of leaving Peter any longer than necessary.

"Yeah… just a bad feeling in my gut. Something's up with Neal, but Diana wouldn't tell me. Do you think you could—"

Elizabeth ghosted a smile. "Check on him?"

Peter returned the smile. "I love you."

"I love you, too. I'll go check on him, but only if you promise to eat something."  
Elizabeth knew that it was a low-blow to use Peter's concern for Neal against him, and truthfully, she would have checked on Neal anyhow, but Peter didn't need to know that. What he did need, however, was to eat.

Peter opened his mouth to protest when he saw the look in his wife's eyes.  
"Okay."

El had to help him—he couldn't use his hands yet- and spoon fed him the jello that had been left for him. It looked as unappetizing as that deviled ham he so loved, but Peter greedily gobbled it up as though it was the most delicious thing he'd ever eaten. Of course, it didn't take a genius to see how appalling he thought it was, but he needed to know what was going on with Neal.

About fifteen minutes later, after another gentile kiss, El made true on her word to check on Neal.

She was gone for maybe ten minutes, though it felt like hours to Peter.

Elizabeth hesitated as she opened the door. She needed Peter to heal, needed him to be calm, and… and..

She opened the door.

Peter took in her red-rimmed eyes.

"Is he okay?"


	15. Chapter 15: Disintegration

_Please note that I'm an English major for a reason—I'm not very good with medical terminology. I've done some research and, to my knowledge, this is medically correct._

I've decided to take some liberty with the idea of being trapped in your own body- I've not read anything about the RAS trapping someone in their own body, but for the sake of this fan-fiction, I'm going to pretend that it's a real thing. I'm saying this now, because this next chapter is going to deal with things from Neal's perspective, and it may not be very medically accurate. -Amber  
_ 

Peter's heart was cracking a little bit, but it was scarcely stitched together at the idea that this could all be over, that Neal was alright, that things could go back to the way they were supposed to be.

"El, tell me what's wrong. You're scaring me."

Elizabeth took a shaky breath and crossed the room, interlacing her fingers with Peter's.  
"H-He's unconscious."

Peter couldn't help but huff a breath out in relief. _For a second there, I was afraid.._ No, even in his thoughts, he wasn't going to think like that. Neal was alive. And why wouldn't he be unconscious? He'd just gotten out of surgery.

"You scared me there. So how was his surgery?

Elizabeth took in her husband's relieved expression in confusion.  
"Hon, I don't think you understand. He's… he's…"  
She felt suddenly lightheaded as she recalled Neal's limp form.

She involuntarily flashed back to the moments before, the hurt in her expression, her eyes full of shock and horror yet somehow unreadable to Peter. It terrified him; Peter had always been able to read his wife, but to see her eyes cloud over like that…

_Swelling of the brain.  
Elizabeth tenderly cupped Neal's cheek.  
"Thank you," she whispered to the pale young man. The young man who was in very many ways a son to her, a little brother, though none of the titles were quite right. He was Neal. That's what he was to her.  
Her Neal._

"You saved Peter. Oh, Neal.." Her words were choppy and thick. It hurt her to swallow past the lump in her throat.

Elizabeth's heart was breaking.

"He's worried about you. We all are. So what do you say, will you open those gorgeous blue eyes for me?"

The doctor had walked in at that point, a worn expression on his face, his blue eyes a bit dull, nothing like Neal's.

And thus began round two of the nightmare as the doctor threw around some words.

Head trauma causing fluid to push against the skull.  
His body needs to heal.

"Mr. Caffrey's body was pushed to the extremes… Honestly, it's a miracle within itself that his heart continued beating, that he continued breathing, that he made it here."

Elizabeth had nodded, unsure of what to say. She needed to know more. Continue, her eyes begged.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Caffrey began to seize when arrive here, at the hospital. While a single seizure rarely produces a coma… continuous seizures – status epilepticus—can. Mr. Caffrey's seizures were preventing his brain from recovering in between the seizures, thus resulting in his coma.  
There is a very likely chance that his Reticular Activating System, that is, the part of his brain that is responsible for arousal and awareness… "

He took an anxious breath. He hated this part of his job.

"What I'm saying is… The RAS system is what's in charge of waking the brain,]. Given the amount of stress that was on his body, the seizures, all that he endured today.. I'm afraid that the damage may be too great. We've given Mr. Caffrey some medication to ease his pain, but we're wary of giving him too much given his condition."

Elizabeth's eyes were haunted as she willed herself to remain strong. For Neal.

"The longer that Mr. Caffrey remains unconscious, the lesser his odds of survival become. I know this is sudden, but it may be a good time to look into his living will, see what he would have wanted. Of course, we'll monitor him here and see if there are any improvements… but um.."

Elizabeth hadn't heard much of anything else after that point.

She'd nodded when appropriate, and she'd waited until the doctor left before allowing a broken sob to escape her mouth. She had to look away from Neal. The conversation between the doctor and herself had been the hardest of her life.

And then she made her way to Peter's hospital room, unsure of how she was going to tell Peter.

As his warm and eager brown eyes met hers, Elizabeth recanted her previous thought.  
This conversation, she thought, is going to be the hardest.

Elizabeth took a breath and finally found the words to tell Peter what was happening. At some point, she'd broken down in tears. A doctor had approached, was it the same man as before? Maybe. Elizabeth's eyes were too watery to be certain.

The doctor had resumed since El could not.

And with that, the stitches in Peter's heart began to melt away, leaving a gaping pain like no other as he finally allowed himself to face the reality that he could really lose Neal. Because this time, unlike the CPR or the chest compressions that had saved Neal's life before, Peter couldn't _do_anything.

"When can I see him?"

_That's the end of this chapter!  
I'm working on the next one from Neal's point of view. I'd really like to have someone write it with me so that I can get a new perspective on it! Please let me know if you're up for it._


	16. Chapter 16: Neal

_"Neal. Honey, can you hear me?"  
Is that Elizabeth?_

He can feel a weight on his chest, a pressure that makes breathing seem an unnatural feat. Each shallow breath is agony, and if it were up to him, he'd have stopped breathing ages ago.

He can hear a machine. He can hear quite a few machines, actually. One of them is producing a beeping noise- beep, beep, beep. He realizes that it is the heart monitor. The beeping sounds muffled—it's hard to stay above the surface in this world he's in—and it is annoying. Neal knows he should be grateful because the beeping means he is still alive; darkly, he wishes it would stop. This pain is unlike anything he's ever dealt with. He can't con his body.

Another machine he can hear is the respirator. The evil culprit that is making him breathe, adding to his pain. Neal feels hot tears dancing beneath his eyelids, but he can't even open his eyes to let them escape.

He thinks he feels a hand in his hair, but it's like trying to feel a butterfly on your body when you're a cactus. Does that even make sense? Neal doesn't think it does, but it's the only explanation he can think of. The pain steals him of his mind. The pain, the sea of agony, this is all that he knows now. The pain leaves little room for any other feelings. He just wants it to stop.

Eventually, he fades away.

He comes back to himself, though he still can't open his eyes.

"Neal."

It's a different voice saying his name this time. Gruffer, deeper.

Peter? Neal asks. Or at least he tries to. He can't seem to move his lips, or anything really. The voice sounds defeated, broken. Neal wishes he could comfort the voice. It's okay, he wants to say. I'm here. I'm right here.

He drifts a bit, struggling to hold on to the voice. This world is full of pain, but each time he lets himself fade away, it becomes harder and harder to come back. He worries that one of these times, he won't be able to.

The voice is pleading with him. He can't make out all of the words, but the emotion is clear.

"Neal… please. I need you to come back to me. To us. Please, Neal."

I'm already here. I never left.

It's getting harder to hold on to the voice.

I'm sorry, Neal thinks. And again, he fades.


	17. Chapter 17: Butch and Sundance

It was a Tuesday when Neal finally woke up.

Elizabeth had been fussing with Neal's hair, huddled over him, struggling to stay awake.  
Needing to get out of that room, he'd volunteered to get coffee.

The Burkes had been staking out Neal's hospital room for twelve days. For the first few nights, they'd taken up camp in Neal's hospital room. Peter was on leave from work, having just been released from the hospital himself. Elizabeth had taken a few days off, had then taken to working from the hospital room, but finally had to return to work. She spent her lunches at the hospital with Peter, and she truly did try to do as much of her work as she could by Neal's bedside, by both of her men.

Peter had just made his way to the hallway where Neal's room was when he became aware of a commotion. He heard a spike in the frequency of a heart monitor, presumably Neal's. He moved as quickly as his legs could carry him, dashing into the room.

"Hon?" He took in Elizabeth's sobbing form as she leaned over Neal.  
"I-Is he alright? What's wrong?" He couldn't get the words out quick enough.

Elizabeth tore her eyes away from Neal, tears streaking down her face. _She was smiling._

Peter looked at Neal.

"_Howdy, Butch,"_ he drawled, his voice weak, as he cracked his eyes open.

Peter's heart grew warm. He quickly set the coffee on one of the chairs and rushed to Neal's side. He laughed as he felt his eyes tear up.

"Hey, Sundance."


End file.
